


one-eighty degree turnaround

by orphan_account



Series: degrees of infatuation [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Why don’t you just sleep in here, too?” Leo asks, deadpan. They’re passing around a tray of flan, and Leo watches Seunggil with a critical eye as Seunggil robotically raises the spoon to his mouth the three allotted times. Maybe the spoonfuls are generous. That’s not for Leo to judge him on.He passes the tray to Phichit, who ignores the three bites rule altogether.Phichit smiles into the tray of flan. “Wouldn’t want to abuse your hospitality.”Leo sighs. “You already have.” It’s true. Signs of Phichit are scattered all around their room- the eyeliner pencil on a bedside table, the strawberry lotion on their sink- it’s not just his and Leo’s dorm anymore.[The college AU that spans one-hundred and eighty days, in which Phichit parks himself in Seunggil's life and then refuses to budge.]





	one-eighty degree turnaround

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michiyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michiyon/gifts).



> Happy birthday to both Phichit & Cam!!! I hope you like this! 
> 
> Thank you so much to @artemistoile and @arbitraryrambunctious for beta-reading and fixing... multitudes of errors. 
> 
> This fic is mildly based off of the movie 500 Days of Summer- I didn't really come in with that mindset but there's plenty of parallels that one can discern.

**Day 165**

It’s not like he’s heartbroken or anything.

Seunggil sits listlessly on his bed, laptop balanced atop the covers. The keyboard is hot to the touch, and the faint whistle of overheating emits from the bottom. On the screen is the code for his and Phichit’s website, blocky with semicolons and parentheses and stupid variable names that Phichit insisted on using.

He could Ctrl A and delete it all.

But he won’t. That wouldn’t be fair to Phichit, either, and anyway— it’s not _Seunggil’s_ site. He just sat behind the scenes and pulled a few strings. Besides, he’s sure that Phichit’s got plenty of tech friends to clean up after Seunggil, to fix the leftover glitches and debug the lines of code. Maybe he could make out with them, too.

He shoves the laptop closed and stands up. Thirty-seven more hours. He’d allow himself thirty-seven hours of looking sad and lethargic and _pathetic_. He stares up at the bulletin board above his bed (Phichit was always trying to sneak photographs onto that bulletin board; Seunggil let him pin up a few, but they’re shredded and dumped into the trash now) and scrutinizes the post-it notes and color-coded schedules.

He can make up for his statistics homework later. He’s only missed two classes, and he’s not going to stoop down so low as to ask a classmate for the notes; it’s not like he’s ever lent them a hand, either. He’ll just scrounge up the topics from the syllabus and pull a couple all-nighters doing research.

Leo’s going to get back soon. Seunggil should probably put on something that doesn’t involve pajamas. He scrutinizes his wardrobe, pulling out a pair of black jeans, and smooths down his hair because even depression is not worth a cowlick.

Leo would analyze that cowlick, anyway, flash a ridiculously kind smile before sneaking up to the kitchens to make pity enchiladas or whatever. It isn’t that the enchiladas are bad; on the contrary, they’re _delicious_ , and Seunggil’s pride can’t handle that right now. His roommate is stupidly nice. It’s going to get him killed one day. Or dumped.

(Then again, Seunggil’s a calculating asshole, and he _still_ hadn’t managed to avoid heartbreak…)

There’s the telltale click of key in lock, and Seunggil crawls onto his bed and reopens the computer, pretending to work on a chunk of code.

1 print “Leo de la Iglesia, don’t ask me how I am.”

2 print “Especially with the pity tone.”

3 print “I may end up killing you, and that’d be unfortunate.”

4 print “I’d have to explain to the RA why there’s a dead body in my room.”

5 print “She’s already scared of me.”

6 print “Don’t give her a reason to report me to the police.”

 _Run Program._  

“Hey,” Leo says quietly, like he’s scared that Seunggil will break or something. _Fuck_. “How’ve you been?” Seunggil glares at his computer like it betrayed him (which it kind of did) and grits his teeth. Leo’s voice is kind. Empathetic.

His eyes, which have been burning dry for the past few days, suddenly flood with what suspiciously feels like an entire week’s worth of saltwater. Damn his retinas.

“Fine,” Seunggil says shortly.

Leo tilts his head. Seunggil fears enchiladas, but no such offer comes. Instead, Leo just shrugs and says, “I’ll leave you to it, then,” and pads off toward his side of the room.

Probably to message Guang-Hong. Seunggil kind of wants to ask if Leo’s gotten his act together with him yet, but a) that would mean _actually expressing interest_ in his roommate’s life, and b) Seunggil’s not sure if he’s ready to hear about Leo’s sitcom-style romance right now.  

Not when his own feelings are in shambles.

“He didn’t break up with you, you know,” Leo finally says. His voice is small, hesitant, like he thinks Seunggil might go into fire-lord mode at the slightest push. Seunggil snorts- honestly, Leo is untouchable. Even he doesn’t have it in himself to be an asshole to him. Or murder him, for that matter.

“You’re saying this like we were actually together at any point in time,” Seunggil says, reasonable, reasonable. Like this is just another question on his Statistics homework- _what’s the probability that Phichit Chulanont would actually have feelings for Seunggil Lee?_

(The correct answer to this is zero, of course. Seunggil had been stupid to believe anything else.)

“Do you need enchiladas tonight?” Leo asks.

Seunggil sighs. Stares down at his computer screen- his hand had been on the f key through the entire conversation, and the screen is covered in f’s- “Yes.”

\---

**Day 1**

Technically, the whole thing is to be blamed on Leo’s enchiladas. That’s stupid and unreasonable, but if Seunggil were to pinpoint a root for this entire disaster, it’d be with _Leo and his fucking enchiladas._

Actually, that might be giving Leo a little too much credit. Maybe the whole thing starts with Yuuri Katsuki’s ridiculously low alcohol tolerance.

(Or maybe it starts with Phichit himself, and his unearthly exuberance.)

It’s near the close of November, frost crystallizing on the grass and a chill threading through the wind. Seunggil likes this weather; it gives him an excuse to wear bulky sweatshirts and disappear.

And, although unbeknownst to Seunggil, the tail end of a rumor that has been on since Halloween is _finally_ beginning to dissipate. The story goes like this:

Christophe Giacometti, that guy who everyone has slept with at least once (tm), throws a costume party that everyone and their cousin and their pet chinchilla twice removed is invited to. Seunggil does not go. But here are some people that do:

  1. Phichit Chulanont, college sweetheart and Instagram junkie, in a suit of royal red and gold that made everyone within a five-meter radius want to jump him.
  2. Yuuri Katsuki, the satellite shadow in almost every single one of Phichit’s Snapchat stories, goes because Phichit is going. They are a package deal, one with the other. He spends most of the night standing awkwardly in the corner in a costume that’s a hybrid of bad bee-movie cosplay and secondhand Hufflepuff robes, drinking radioactively orange punch.
  3. Victor Nikiforov, resident celebrity, comes in dressed like a king. He is asked for his phone number fifteen times in that night alone.



Yuuri, after many, many shots of punch (the exact number is unknown; perhaps around twenty) ends up a) doing a duet pole dance routine with Chris and b) grinding on Victor’s lap. The two of them were seen disappearing outside thirty minutes later, and after that, the details can only be guessed.

Everyone automatically assumed sex, because that is how these stories usually go. But the truth is much less salacious; in reality, Yuuri had gone and thrown up in the bushes and passed out, and Victor somehow had it in him to fall in love.

Seunggil, of course, is not on top of this. He doesn’t pay attention to gossip, so even when he is on the receiving end of the details, he doesn’t absorb them. The only evidence he has that the event even occurred is this: Leo is always on the phone, talking and typing in hushed tones, and at one point he is so preoccupied that he causes a microwaved pizza to explode.

Seunggil is thoroughly exasperated. He expects this from himself, as he _burns water,_ but not from Leo and his holy enchiladas.

“Hi,” an unfamiliar voice calls, muffled by the door. Seunggil wonders if it’s a serial killer- he wouldn’t really mind if it were, given how this assignment is going. “Leo, you home?”

Seunggil sighs and peels himself off the couch, shuffling over to the door. He opens it with an unamused stare and is confronted with a blinding smile in return. “Not here.”

The boy tilts his head, and Seunggil vaguely recognizes him. Phichit Chulanont- his name is in every branch of the college grapevine, so much that even socially-averse guys like Seunggil know of him.

“Oh. Where is he?” Phichit asks.

“Upstairs, making contraband enchiladas,” Seunggil says shortly.

He rubs his eyes, and the strangeness of the situation finally sets in. It’s eleven-thirty PM, definitely past curfew. But Seunggil isn’t really in the mood to deal with people, so he lets Phichit in and resettles himself into the couch.

Phichit hums and immediately spreads out a sleeping bag on the floor. He moves around their room with a practiced kind of ease, and Seunggil wonders if he’s been here before or if he’s just that comfortable around complete strangers.

He tries to refocus on the numbers, but they’re all kind of blurring together; also, the Thai version of the sun is literally in the room with him right now. It’s mildly distracting, to say the least, but Seunggil forces himself to stare down at the graphs in front of him.

The door creaks open, and Seunggil has never been so glad to see Leo. He’s holding a tray of enchiladas in his hands, and with the quality of the kitchens and the fact that the only affordable grocery shop nearby is the Kwik-Trip, they might as well be magic.

“Phichit!” Leo says, surprised. “How’d you get in here?”

Phichit vaguely gestures at Seunggil, who is completely preoccupied with the thought of food. “Your roommate let me in.”

“Don’t let random people in, Seunggil,” Leo says tiredly. “He might be a murderer. Or worse, the RA.”

“Noted,” Seunggil says dryly, getting off the couch. Leo precariously sets the tray on the table, and Phichit picks one up and takes a bite, yelping when it burns his mouth. It’s probably karmic retribution for having eyeliner _that_ natural at eleven o’clock at night.

“So, what brings you here?” Leo says casually. It’s apparent that he doesn’t mind, and Seunggil resigns himself to spending the night with what- to him- is a total stranger. Phichit shrugs and takes a smaller, more careful bite of enchilada.

“So, remember the Victor debacle?”

“That literally happened _a week_ ago,” Leo says dryly.

Phichit holds his hands up. “Time operates differently in the rumor mill! But yeah. He and Yuuri are- together now.” His voice cracks in the middle, and he coughs.

“...And your point is?”

“They’re _together now_. As in, in my dorm room. You can put the pieces together.”

Leo covers his face. “Oh my god.” His face is bright red, and Seunggil snorts a little at that. His roommate is so innocent. It’s amusing.  

“Which is why I was gonna ask to stay over for the night,” Phichit says easily. “If that’s okay with you?” He directs the question at Seunggil.

Seunggil shrugs. “As long as you don’t touch my stuff.”

Leo winces in the way he always does when Seunggil is that level of blunt, but the comment rolls off Phichit like water. “Yeah, that’s fine, I won’t. Your homework looks like it could kill me, anyway.”

Seunggil disregards how true those words actually are and heads over to the tray to take an enchilada. It melts in his mouth, any vegetables Leo might have snuck away in there hidden by the taste. Seunggil keeps his face stoic, though; he’s not about to let a stranger see him have a foodgasm.

“So,” Phichit says. “Why are you eating enchiladas?”

“They taste good?” Leo asks, kind of squirrelly. He takes an enchilada and shoves it in his mouth, like it’ll prevent him from answering.

“Question avoidance,” Seunggil snaps.

“Yeah,” Phichit agrees, gesturing to Seunggil. “You only eat these when you’re sad.”

“Which one of you is the good cop?” Leo pleads, and Seunggil stares back at him with an impassive face. He sighs. “Oh my god… you guys suck.”

Phichit shrugs. “It’d be nice to focus on someone else’s problems for the night.”

Seunggil says, “You’re annoying when you’re sad.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “How lucky I am to have the two of you...I’m just having a bad day, okay? It’s just bad.” His enchilada unrolls in his hands, and Seunggil winces as parts of the filling hit the floor and moves to clean it up.

(He can’t stand… food messes. And also.)  

He glances under the bed. There’s an unmoving dark lump, and Seunggil prays that Leo’s enchiladas aren’t magical enough to wake a Siberian Husky from sleep.

He sees Phichit’s gaze curiously following his and drags his gaze away, pinning it on Leo, who looks like he’s been trapped. Phichit hops up on their cheap IKEA couch and swings his legs. “So, who does Guang-Hong like this time?”

“Why do you assume that?” Leo says, irritated. “Maybe I failed a test on music theory.”

“I know heartbreak when I see it,” Phichit says easily. “Plus, enchiladas are the Guang-Hong food. Flan’s for the bad scores, right?”

“What are you, a psychologist?” Leo grumbles, before fixing his gaze firmly on the floor and mumbling, “Cao Bin.”

Phichit winces, looking like that if he’d been drinking tea, he would’ve spit it out. “I’m so sorry,” he says, holding out his arms. Leo stumbles into them and lets his own hands hang limply at his sides. Seunggil is perched awkwardly on the arm of the couch; he’s never been good with comfort.

However, there is one thing he can do. “Give me the three variables,” he sighs.

“Two, eight, and four,” Leo says after a second, voice muffled by Phichit’s sweatshirt.

Seunggil punches the numbers into his calculator. “He’ll like him for a month, tops, and there’s only a ten percent chance of returned affection. You’re good.”

Leo leans dramatically back. “But that’s so… _long_.”

Phichit stares at them in fascination. “What, do you guys have an algorithm for unrequited love?”

“It only applies to Guang-Hong,” Seunggil says. “Once again, Leo’s really annoying when he’s sad.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Leo snaps, but his eyes are soft. “Anyway, Seunggil here is basically a genius. I can’t do math.”

Seunggil shrugs. It’s kind of amusing- he’s the one that came up with a formula to determine the length of a crush, but he’s never so much liked someone, unrequited or otherwise. He is, however, connected by a thin thread to the gayest social circle in history by Leo, whose love life is a mess.

Seunggil’s only relationship has been with his Statistics homework.

And maybe his awkwardness- his _not-belonging_ \- is obvious enough that it’s a tangible thing, because the unmoving dark lump under the bed is suddenly very much moving and also no longer under the bed.

“Hoppang,” Leo yelps as she makes a beeline for the enchiladas.

“You guys have a _dog_?” Phichit gasps, eyes sparkling, and Seunggil breathes out a sigh of relief when it’s clear that Phichit is going to keep their secret. “Oh my god- that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, well, we’re dead meat if we’re found out,” Leo says, and Hoppang yips a little at the mention of _meat_. Seunggil stares down at the ground.

Hoppang, after vacuuming up the mess of enchilada on the floor, immediately jumps atop Phichit. He laughs and opens his arms. Seunggil is a little bit envious of that- having a gravitational pull so strong that even dogs would abandon the prospect of more meat to snuggle in your arms.

“Is she yours?” Phichit asks, gesturing to Seunggil.

Seunggil nods, and Phichit whistles. “ _Damn_.”

“The RA’s not that observant,” Seunggil says. “You could probably do it too, if you tried.”

Phichit’s eyes crinkle. “Who says I don’t? Yuuri always thinks I’m going to get caught with my hamsters… but a _dog_?”

Seunggil says nothing but allows his mouth to quirk up in a tired semblance of a smile. Leo sighs and says, “We should probably get some sleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” Phichit says, and Seunggil stares sadly at the remaining mess of Statistics homework that he has. “Yeah… I’m sorry, I probably interrupted something, didn’t I?”

“Why do you even ask when you know you’re not going to be sorry,” Leo groans. “But yeah. Sleep.”

Phichit spreads out his sleeping bag on the floor and tucks himself in. “G’night. Oh- and by the way- _Leo, I swear I will shut up after this_ \- I’m not gonna rat you out, if you couldn’t already tell.”

“Yeah, okay,” Seunggil says quietly before turning back to his Statistics homework. “Thanks.”

Phichit flashes a smile at him, and Leo dims the light on his side of the room. Seunggil muddles through the rest of his homework as best he can before he falls asleep himself. By the time he wakes, Phichit is gone.

“Sorry,” Leo apologizes. “That was- kind of sudden. But you seemed okay with him, right?”

Seunggil considers this. He’d been rude and blunt as usual, but no malice had ever crept into his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

\---

**Day 9**

Seunggil had expected it to be a one-time encounter. An intersection between completely differing equations, crisscrossing at a single point before continuing off in their separate ways.

Phichit is, however- in a good way, in the most scientific, platonic way possible, goddamit- memorable. So maybe his smile will pop into Seunggil’s mind at sporadic intervals. It’s a good smile, the outlier kind of smile at the very far end of the bell curve.

Seunggil presses his nails into his palms, the image of Phichit’s face flashing into his head once again. It’s two o’clock, and the study room has emptied out so that only two other people are in it, a petite blonde and a dark-haired girl that look like a couple.

Seunggil looks away and refocuses on his Statistics homework. He’d practically been sleeping in the study rooms for the past few days studying for the upcoming test. Scratch that, he’d _actually_ been sleeping in the study rooms. If anyone cared to look closely at him, they’d be able to see he was a mess, purple circles under his eyes while he rolled a half-molten mint under his tongue.

Leo had bought him a box of pop-tarts for the occasion. Strawberry.

He folds his sweatshirt on his textbook and rests his head on top of it, deciding to call it a night. It’s just past twelve… he’s got the test in nine hours. As long as there aren’t any freak accidents, he should be able to pass with a ninety percent or higher.

(Bell curves and outliers. A smile brighter than the sun.)

He emerges from the test looking like a disaster, just another zombie in a sea of walking dead. But that’s fine. He can go back to his dorm and take a shower, and then he’ll head over to the cafe and get a sandwich. Although, without Leo, cafeteria sandwiches are a waste- they’re always stuffed with vegetables that Seunggil refuses to eat.

Halfway across campus, he sees Phichit, a camera slung around his neck. When Phichit turns around, Seunggil expects Phichit’s eyes to pass over him, but Phichit grins, points the camera in his direction, and takes a shot.

Phichit lowers it with a disappointed look on his face. “You blinked.”

“You gave me no warning,” Seunggil points out. _Why are you talking to me_?

Phichit gives an acquiescent shrug before his expression morphs into one of horror. “Are you okay? You look- awful… I mean. Not in a bad way.”

“Thanks for specifying,” Seunggil says dryly. “I just came out of an exam.”

Phichit nods, rocking back on his heels. “Is that why you’re never in your dorm room anymore?”

That’s a little bit much for Seunggil to absorb when he’s in this state. Because Phichit makes it sound like he was _purposely looking for Seunggil_ , or something like that. “I was studying,” Seunggil says lamely. “Why were you in my dorm room?”

Phichit scrunches up his face. It’s kind of adorable. “There are… multiple reasons for that. One, Victor is always in _my_ dorm now, and as cute as he and Yuuri are, I’d rather not get my nonexistent relationship status shoved in my face. Two, Leo’s a pushover, and I’ve forgotten how good his food is. And three, you seemed cool. And I don’t have any classes with you or anything.” He shrugs.

“Do you do this with all your acquaintances?” Seunggil asks accusingly.

“Only the ones with cute dogs,” Phichit replies. “It’d be impossible to talk to everybody all at once… when are they going to make cloning a viable option for humans?”

While that’s not a scientifically sound question, Seunggil decides to roll with it because, as Leo had informed him, people with good social skills tend to phrase things in exaggerative fashions because that makes for good conversation flow.

“Not anytime this century,” Seunggil says.

“I guess I’ll just have to live forever, then. Anyway, so,” and here, Phichit looks _nervous_ , almost, “you gonna be in your dorm from now on, then?”

“The study hall isn’t a very comfortable place to sleep. And Leo’s not that bad. I’d have no reason not to.”

Phichit looks insulted. “What’s wrong with Leo?”

“Nothing. I just said he wasn’t that bad.”

“No- you- is this your version of a compliment?”

“I don’t do compliments,” Seunggil says. “Leo is tolerable. His cooking is more than tolerable. Except when he hides vegetables in the tacos.”

Phichit rubs his temples, smiling in an exasperated way. “You’re really interesting.” _What’s that supposed to mean_? “Anyway, you wouldn’t mind me? In your room?”

“Why would I,” Seunggil says. “I said it last time. As long as you don’t touch my stuff…”

“Yeah, trust me,” Phichit says. “I’m not planning on it.”

\---

**Day 20**

The fourth bullet point in the ever-growing list of things Seunggil knows about Phichit Chulanont: if you give him an inch, he does not just take a mile. No, he takes the inch and runs a fucking marathon with it, and he’s so charismatic about it too that you end up cheering for him in the sidelines while your poor inch is grinded to the dust.

Basically, Phichit very much invites himself into Seunggil and Leo’s dorm. He practically lives in it at this point.

“Why don’t you just sleep in here, too?” Leo asks, deadpan. They’re passing around a tray of flan, and Leo watches Seunggil with a critical eye as Seunggil robotically raises the spoon to his mouth the three allotted times. Maybe the spoonfuls are generous. That’s not for Leo to judge him on.

He passes the tray to Phichit, who ignores the three bites rule altogether.

Phichit smiles into the tray of flan. “Wouldn’t want to abuse your hospitality.”

Leo sighs. “You _already have_.” It’s true. Signs of Phichit are scattered all around their room- the eyeliner pencil on a bedside table, the strawberry lotion on their sink- it’s not just his and Leo’s dorm anymore.

Seunggil doesn’t really know how he feels about it. Not regretful, exactly, but he’s definitely not used to it. Their already-small dorm room feels even more crowded with Phichit’s larger-than-life presence, and Seunggil _should_ dislike it. He’s an introvert and likes solitude by nature.  

He should feel left out, at the very least. When one looks at Phichit, it’s so obvious as to what Seunggil’s lacking. There’s the constant _ping_ of notifications as Phichit’s phone goes off from some message alert or another, and Leo is more comfortable around Phichit than he ever is with Seunggil. Even Hoppang isn’t completely his anymore- she always trails off after Phichit when he leaves, a sad look on her face.

Like she’s being deprived of Leo’s enchiladas, or something.

But Seunggil... doesn’t. Because Phichit is always making sure to drag Seunggil into the conversation, shoving his phone into Seunggil’s face every time he sees a math-related meme (Seunggil’s face remains stoic, but he’s fighting for his composure) and yelling his name across the room like he’s not _right there_. It’s weird. It’s like Seunggil’s been given access to a human spotlight.

“Hey,” Leo says, poking his finger into Phichit’s shoulder. “Your flan privileges are revoked. What about _three bites_ do you not understand?”

“Seunggil’s the math one, not me,” Phichit complains, before obligingly handing over the tray.

Seunggil peers at the tray, frowning. “You ate fifty percent of it. In one turn.”

“Cut me some slack,” Phichit whines, and Seunggil shrugs and digs a spoon into the sad blocks of remaining flan. “Anyway, Leo, weren’t you gonna show us the composition you were talking about?”

“Oh, yeah,” Leo says, grabbing his guitar. “Tell me what you think.”

“What’s it about?” Phichit asks, a teasing edge to his voice. (Guang-Hong had stopped crushing on Cao Bin two days ago, like the unrequited algorithm had predicted, so these jokes are allowed now.)

“You’re perfectly aware, Chulanont,” Leo says. “Hey- Seunggil- next time I make food, it’s all yours. Don’t give it to Phichit.”

“Noted,” Seunggil says dispassionately, to Phichit’s offended squawk.

\---

**Day 32**

Leo’s not here, and Seunggil feels weird.

Because Leo is like- a constant fixture in the dorm room. Like the poster of Mamo on Ice on the wall or the one weird stain on the floor that may or may not be blood. Granted, he’s usually playing some kind of instrument and- well-

People think it’s glamorous to live with a composer, like having a human radio. It’s not- Leo will play variations of the same two measures a dozen times trying to get it perfect or interrupt Seunggil in the middle of the night asking _hey which of these two chords sound better- oh. You’re glaring. I’ll just… walk out of the room now._ _Yeah._

But it’s strange having the room be devoid of music. And it’s even weirder because Phichit just came in, and there’s no Leo to be found as a buffer. Just Seunggil awkwardly sitting on his room with a computer in his lap.

“Oh, hey,” Phichit says. He doesn’t mention that Leo isn’t here, nor that he has a key ring dangling from his fingers. When the fuck did he get that? “What are you working on? Anything important?”

Seunggil stares blearily at his computer screen. The program is all done; all that’s left is to debug it, and he’s been re-reading the same loop for the past thirty minutes. “Not really. Leo’s not here, by the way.”

“I can see that. Kinda weird. The guy’s always in here.” He makes no move to leave, opting instead to plop on the couch.

“So there’s no reason for you to stay,” Seunggil says patiently, and Phichit stares at him with round, uncomprehending eyes.

“You’re here,” Phichit points out.   

“My social energy is in the negative ranges, and you’re an extrovert by nature. You’ll find more company with a slab of concrete. Or a ceiling fan.”

“Do you not want me in here?” Phichit asks, a flash of hurt crossing his features.

“I don’t care if you’re in here or not,” Seunggil says, although a quiet part of him laments the idea of being alone again with his near-perfect coding and his sticky spacebar. “I’m just saying; I’m not an entertaining person to be around.”

“Oh my god- we have to fix this,” Phichit says. “You’re coming with me.” He shrugs his jacket back on and stands expectantly at the door.

Seunggil reluctantly peels himself off the bed. “Where?”

“I don’t know? Somewhere?” Phichit asks, shrugging. “Anywhere you want to go?”

Seunggil mimics the shrug. “Your idea. I’ll just follow you.”

Phichit looks at him with an indecipherable expression, and they head off across campus. A bunch of people say hi to Phichit as he walks past, and Phichit waves hello back. Seunggil wonders if he’s a charity case or something- Phichit clearly has better to do with his afternoon hours.

“Hey, Phichit!” someone calls, and Phichit turns around. Phichit’s face falls, and Seunggil’s mind scrabbles for calculations.

“Hey, Emil,” Phichit says back.

“Photography’s in a few minutes. We should get going,” Emil says, bouncing on his heels. The glow on his face makes Phichit seem muted in comparison, like neon compared to a regular rainbow.

(And if Phichit is normal color, then Seunggil is black and white.)

“Oh- yeah,” Phichit says, hesitantly. “I guess I should get going, then?” He says it like a question, looking at Seunggil.

Seunggil nods. “Yeah.”

“I mean, I can afford to miss one-”

“I don’t care,” Seunggil says bluntly. “Go ahead.”

Phichit doesn’t come to their dorm the next day, and Seunggil isn’t disappointed.

He’s not.

\---

**Day 167**

“You should talk to him,” Leo says, phone dangling from his hand.

\---

**Day 38**

Seunggil stands outside of The Prix Cafe, hands in his pockets and calculating whether his and Leo’s monthly budget will be able to take the hit. Then he remembers that it’s Thursday, 3:00 PM, so he pushes a hand against the door and strolls inside.

He’s assaulted by the smell of coffee and before-test desperation. The place is packed, as it always is. Kids need a place to study, and caffeine and cheese danishes are excellent bonuses that the library doesn’t offer.  

There isn’t much of a line, so Seunggil can see the messy mop of brown hair behind the counter: Guang-Hong Ji, chronic blusher and root cause of Leo’s enchiladas. Seunggil walks up, and Guang-Hong startles a little before going, “Oh, hey!”

Guang-Hong is either a) obliged to give him free stuff because he’s Leo’s roommate, or b) scared of him. It’s probably the latter. He doesn’t feel guilty enough not to thoroughly exploit it, though- wallet over feelings.

“Hi,” Seunggil says. “Medium black coffee, please.”

Guang-Hong gives him a stilted thumbs-up before hurrying off to make his order. When he returns, he’s also got a paper bag with two butter croissants. “Give one to Leo,” Guang-Hong says. He blushes and looks down, like a scared bunny. “I mean. If you want.”

Seunggil frowns at him, and Guang-Hong awkwardly avoids eye contact. _That’s just how my face is_ , Seunggil wants to tell him, although he won’t, because that would be like admitting that he cares at least somewhat about Guang-Hong Ji’s opinion.

Which he doesn’t. It’d be even worse if Guang-Hong _liked_ him, given his track record with purely platonic feelings.

So he just grabs the paper bag off the counter with his coffee and scans the room for a place to sit. It’s started snowing outside, and he debates going back to his dorm- on one hand, it’s cold, and the croissants would decrease in quality, but on the other hand- people. This cafe is full of them.

But he forgot his gloves back at his dorm, so he sighs and resigns himself to finding a place to sit. The only empty place in the cafe is- _oh_.

It’s Phichit. He’s got his phone in his hands and his face is unnaturally somber; sad, almost. (But Phichit’s never sad.) He hasn’t come to their dorm ever since that guy from photography dragged him away…

Seunggil shakes his head. Anyway, Phichit is tolerable- he probably won’t bother Seunggil, considering he’s got humanity’s worth of entertainment in his hands, and the adjacent chair to his is empty.

(Which is a little weird, all things considered. Phichit. Alone.)

“Hi,” Seunggil says bluntly, heading over to the seat. Phichit’s eyes widen when he sees him, and Seunggil reconsiders this decision. Because Phichit looks- different. Seunggil isn’t good enough with social cues to recognize exactly _how_ he’s different, but it’s like he’s more closed off. Harder to read.

Like an open book slammed shut.

“Hi,” Phichit says warily. “Do you want this table?”

“Yeah,” Seunggil says, taking out his computer. 82%. He stares outside and hopes that this will last him at least until the storm abates.

“Cool,” Phichit says shortly, pulling on his gloves. They have Hufflepuff crests on them, yellow stripes around the wrists. “I’ll get going, then.”

Seunggil frowns. The table can seat both of them, but he doesn’t know how to say that. “Goodbye,” he says instead, and Phichit nods, not moving. Like he’s waiting for something.

“Goodbye,” Phichit repeats, hand on his phone. And it’s all wrong. It’s all wrong, an itch building under Seunggil’s skin.

He blurts the first thing he can think of, the thing that has been at the back of his mind like faint static for the past few days. “Why don’t you come to our dorm anymore? Leo keeps on forgetting he doesn’t have to cook for three.”

“Do you _want_ me there?” Phichit asks.

Seunggil is going to say, he’s indifferent. That it’s Phichit’s decision. But that’s not _right_ , even unvoiced, because it’s not true. If it were, he would be okay with Phichit leaving right now. He would be okay with Phichit deciding not to hang out in their room anymore, brightening the place like another light source.

“I like you there,” he finally says. The words feel strange in his mouth, as if he’s taking a bite of a food he’s never tasted before. It’s so new that he can’t decide whether he likes it or not.

“Okay,” Phichit says finally, and it’s like someone flipped a switch. The thickness in the air dissipates, and Phichit sits back down, completely at ease for just a moment.

And then he stands right back up. “I actually do have to go now,” he says, voice apologetic. “I have class.”

“Okay,” Seunggil says, and looks out at the storm. “Don’t die out there.”

“I’ll try my best,” Phichit laughs, whirling around with his badger gloves and winter hat. He’s halfway out to the door before he turns back. “Actually- um, can I have your number?”

He looks weird and strange and nervous, and Seunggil doesn’t know what to do. Shouldn’t it be an honor that the likes of Phichit Chulanont wants the number of a nerd like him? “Sure,” he says carefully.

Phichit pulls up his contact list. “Add yourself.” The scroll bar of the contact list is painfully small, _microscopic-_ the number of contacts Phichit has is probably more than the number of texts Seunggil has sent in his entire life.

At this point, Seunggil doesn’t really remember his own number. He enters in a sequence that he prays is the right one. “Here,” he says, giving it back.

Phichit types something, and there’s a ding from Seunggil’s pocket. _You have (1) text._ And it’s not from T-Mobile, asking for a payment. Or from his mom.

No. It’s from unknown, a _hey hey hey_ followed by a couple of emojis. Seunggil opens up the messaging app, his thumbs clumsy as he types out a reply on the keyboard.

How the fuck does anyone even type on keys this small? Why don’t their fingers hit the neighboring letters? _Hey_ , he sends back.

Phichit gives him a thumbs up before he turns and walks out the door. Seunggil is left to debate over whether or not to add Phichit to his contact list, because who knew if he was even going to text.

\---

**Day 168**

Now it’s strange to have no one spamming his phone with memes at sporadic intervals throughout the day. Seunggil’s dealt with radio silence ever since he got his phone, no notifications to shut off, no issue of accidentally getting a call in the middle of class.

It shouldn’t feel like this going back. But it’s like tripping into the cold pool after an hour in the hot tub. The shock is mind-numbing.

He heads over to The Prix Cafe _._ It’s Guang-Hong’s shift, and Seunggil goes in with the vague purpose of glaring him into submission and getting a free baked good out of it. He pushes open the door and heads over.

He affixes a glower on his face and heads over to the counter. But Guang-Hong doesn’t take the step back, like he usually does, and it occurs to Seunggil that- maybe a boy that had spent so long getting his own heart broken would be able to see it on someone else. Because the look on Guang-Hong’s face isn’t scared. It’s empathetic.

Seunggil turns to leave.

“Hey-” a small voice says, and Seunggil turns around. Guang-Hong is at the counter, mouth still open from a sentence cut off. “Hey,” he says again, stronger.

“Hi,” Seunggil says, trying to make the word sound like the end of the conversation. But Guang-Hong plunges on.

“I just-” he says lamely. “Leo. Told me. About uh, you and Phichit.”

That kindhearted _fucker_. Does the entire campus know?

Oh. He’d voiced that thought out loud. “No. Just um, me,” Guang-Hong says. “Although I wouldn’t be able to tell you Phichit’s side…”

News of it would probably go down the grapevine soon enough, given Phichit’s popularity. It was a good thing Seunggil didn’t have a social status to begin with...

“Why,” Seunggil grits out. “Are you even talking to me.”

“I just, wanted to tell you. That the reason Leo and I got together-” _oh god, they’re together? And I didn’t know?_ “Is because we um. Finally talked it out.”

“And I should care because,” Seunggil says, trying to make his voice condescending. Except it doesn’t really work, because now even the likes of serial unrequited-crusher _Guang-Hong Ji_ has his love life more in order than Seunggil.

“I’m just saying you should talk to him,” Guang-Hong says, squaring his shoulders. “You’d be surprised.”

Seunggil rubs his temples, about to leave. Before he does, though, he finds himself asking, “When?” Guang-Hong looks confused for a second, and Seunggil clarifies. “Did you and Leo get together.”

Because Seunggil _didn’t know_ -

Guang-Hong at least has the decency to look ashamed. “On Phichit’s birthday…” he says, and Seunggil turns and flees the cafe. It’s beginning to rain, but he can’t bring himself to care.

\---

**Day 49**

Seunggil is aware that what he has with Phichit is not exactly friendship protocol. It’s always Phichit testing the waters, seeing what Seunggil is comfortable with, leaving Seunggil to awkwardly try and reciprocate.

Like- doesn’t Phichit get _tired_ of it? Seunggil is aware that Phichit, with his charisma, has plenty of other, less socially awkward options. So why is he still here?

“It’s because of Hoppang,” Phichit says, hugging her to his chest.

“That would make sense,” Seunggil says. “There aren’t many people who have contraband dogs around here.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “It’s because I like you, idiot.”

“Like?”

“As in friend,” Phichit clarifies, his cheeks dusted red. “That kind of like. I think you’re cool.”

“Oh,” Seunggil says. That’s new.

\---

**Day 66**

“Hey,” Phichit says idly. They’re both crammed onto Seunggil’s bed, because Phichit has no concept of personal space.

Actually, he does. It’s just that Seunggil’s been letting him. “What are you majoring in, anyway?”

“How the fuck do you not know what I’m majoring in,” Seunggil says. “Wait- actually. I don’t know what you’re majoring in either. Never mind.”

Phichit grins at him from the opposite end of the bed. (This is how they’re sitting: Phichit at one end and Seunggil at the other; Phichit’s right foot barely touches Seunggil’s sock-clad left.) “Everything you do looks equally terrifying to me. I can’t differentiate.”

“I major in Statistics,” he says, and Phichit pulls a face around the Dorito that he’s eating. Fake-horrified.

“Why?” he asks. Not judgemental; legitimately curious.

Seunggil shrugs, leaning over to take a Dorito from the bag. “I like numbers and knowing where I stand.”

“You’re smart enough for it,” Phichit muses. “Although I could never do that. I just- jump in. If the person I like keeps crushing on other people? Fuck unrequited algorithms or whatever-”

“-That was _only for Guang-Hong_ -”

“I’d just. I don’t know. See how it goes,” Phichit says. “Of course, that situation is completely hypothetical...”

“Yeah, you’re not missing out,” Seunggil says, and Phichit’s head whips up. “Leo always looks really depressed whenever Guang-Hong likes someone else.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know firsthand. I’ve never liked anyone.”

Phichit looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I actually kind of get that. I’ve only ever had maybe one or two crushes in my life. It’s way easier to just be friends with someone, you know?”

“And I minor in web development,” Seunggil says, changing the topic. “What about you?”

Phichit looks slightly disoriented. “Oh. Um, I major in veterinary studies- I like pets, as you can tell-” (Yeah, he can, Phichit goes and coos over Hoppang _every single_ time, and do not even get Seunggil started on how melty his face gets whenever he looks at his hamsters) “And I’m in photography club. You already know that second part.”

Seunggil nods, pulling his knees up to his chest and refocusing back on the screen. He makes a mental note to himself not to code while conversing with Phichit. When talking to him, binary looks too dense in comparison. Unreadable and bland.   

Seunggil closes the laptop.

“I kind of wanted to be a director when I was younger,” Phichit says. “I was obsessed with movies. The King and the Skater was my favorite.”

“I’ve never seen it. Movies aren’t really-”

“You’re watching it,” Phichit declares. “Maybe not now- over the weekend, so I can properly rant. But you are coming over to my dorm and _you are watching it_.”

Strangely enough, for all that Phichit crashes over, Seunggil’s never been inside Phichit’s dorm. He kind of forgets that Phichit exists at other places besides his and Leo’s dorm and The Prix Cafe.

Which isn’t true, of course. He comes to their dorm room slightly hungover after Friday nights and is notably absent during the weekend. The data is there. Maybe Seunggil just doesn’t like thinking about it.

“Okay,” Seunggil says.

“Yuuri’s probably gonna be out,” Phichit says. “With- Victor.”

It’s said to be a reassurance, because even the socially inept- and Phichit is _anything_ but socially inept- can tell that Seunggil isn’t really comfortable around more than a few people, but here is the thing-

Seunggil sometimes wishes there were a buffer between him and Phichit. Not because he doesn’t like Phichit, or anything even close to that, but because he gets this weird feeling when Phichit’s around too long. Like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice, about to fall.

“I have Shall We Skate set as my ringtone,” Phichit says, fumbling for his phone. “It’s been my favorite song since I was like- ten-”

That’s dedication; Seunggil can’t even bring himself to have a favorite song. Mostly because the stuff played on the radio is trash, and he doesn’t have the time to scour the internet for anything better.

The song emitting from the speakers is ridiculously upbeat, all major chords and rhyming lyrics and- oh. It’s actually not that bad. Phichit stands up from the bed and jams along, his hair flopping into his eyes.

He’s an awful dancer. Seunggil stifles a laugh.

“You do it, then,” Phichit says defiantly, and Seunggil smooths his mouth into a neutral line and shakes his head.

“Your loss,” Phichit says cheerfully, and jumps around until the song ends. He moves lanky and off-rhythm, and the word at the forefront of Seunggil’s mind shouldn’t be _cute_.

His chest shouldn’t feel this tight.

“What about you?” Phichit says, when he settles down. “Did you just like, come out of the womb deciding you wanted to major in Statistics?”

Seunggil scoffs. “What do you think?”

Phichit’s eyes crinkle. “I don’t know, in second grade everyone wanted to be either an astronaut or a firefighter. Statistician wasn’t even a viable option. So, which one were you?”

Phichit isn’t expecting an answer. And that’s the thing. He never really expects _anything_ from Seunggil. It’s always completely optional, whether Seunggil is ready to go forward or not. And Seunggil doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like being predictable.

He doesn’t want to make Phichit feel like he’s skating on thin ice whenever he’s talking to him.

“Astronaut,” Seunggil admits, quietly. “I had a toy telescope and a book about planets.”

“Damn,” Phichit says. “Okay- but, _real question here_ \- do you think Pluto’s a planet?”

Seunggil tightens his mouth. “No. Pluto didn’t meet scientific standards. It had no right to stay up there with the rest of the solar system.”

“We’re not friends anymore,” Phichit declares, and Seunggil lets himself laugh.

\---

**Day 70**

“So? What do you think?” Phichit asks. The ending credits of _The King and The Skater_ roll across the screen, and Phichit’s eyes are suspiciously moist.

Seunggil shrugs. “It was okay… I think the plot was a little overpacked.”

“What,” Phichit asks. “You wound me. This has been my _favorite movie_ since I was like, _five_. It was there for me when-” he cuts himself off. “It’s just. Has always been there.”

“The soundtrack was good,” Seunggil says. “And the special effects.”

Phichit sighs. “Too little, too late.”

\---

**Day 85**

“Seunggil,” Phichit says idly, one day. They’re in one of the study rooms, sunlight streaming in through the windows. It’s cold outside, but the sky is brilliant blue.

Seunggil checks his watch. They’ve been doing homework for around thirty minutes or so. Phichit looks like he’s ready to pass out over his textbook, so Seunggil flips his packet shut. “What.”

“I need to create a website for photography club,” Phichit says, hesitant. “Like a digital portfolio. Could you maybe help me out?”

“With what?” Seunggil says, blankly.

“Making the website,” Phichit says. “Content I’m fine, and I’ll pay for any costs. But like, I’m not so good with the actual tech logistics of it…”

“Yeah,” Seunggil says.

“Really? It won’t take up too much of your time?”

Seunggil thinks of Phichit, mooching off of Leo’s food but shoving money into his hands every week or so saying _you guys can’t go broke because of me_ , and says, “Sure. I could probably get some extra credit points off of it.”

“Awesome,” Phichit says. “And I’ll give you credit, of course. I’d write your name in the header if you wanted, in like, neon Comic Sans.”

Seunggil huffs. “It’s _fine_. And also, Comic Sans?”

“ _It was the first font I could think of, okay._ ”

\---

**Day 94**

It’s one o’clock at night, and Seunggil is still awake.

That’s not a new thing. His study schedule is on the more nocturnal end of the spectrum, and insomnia is a frequent visitor. But no, he’s awake because Phichit is in his room.

Phichit has actually never stayed the night beyond the first day he was here, always respectfully leaving at ten twenty-five with a snap of his hat and a wave of his fingers. But that’s not the thing. Seunggil is curious:

Leo keeps on _leaving_ , and Seunggil wants to know what’s up.

Leo’s never had places to go before. He’s always holed up in his room, some instrument or other in his hands, and now, he’s out almost every afternoon. He’s back before seven, usually, so he can cook up something that resembles dinner (“You can’t microwave shit, Phichit, and I need to hide vegetables in the- what. No, of course not. Keep eating”).

But a few hours ago, Leo had walked out at seven, cello awkwardly in tow, saying “Hey, I’m gonna be staying over at JJ’s tonight, okay?”

To which Seunggil had replied, “JJ? As in JJ Leroy?”

“He’s not _that bad_ ,” Leo argued. “He’s kind of like- I don’t know- don’t give me the judgy face. He isn’t actually as annoying as you think. Anyway, I’m out.” He waves.

And sometimes Seunggil’s mind will do this thing where it’ll process a million different thoughts at once, overheat, malfunction, and spit out the least appealing option. “He’s good at Statistics,” he says, and Leo raises a brow and shuts the door.

Seunggil rubs his temples and returns to his homework. It’s funny that he actually has to plan around his homework, now, ever since Phichit showed up. Ever since Leo started talking to him like a human being, not just some kind of breakable robot that couldn’t be trusted not to burn out on itself.

(And he can’t decide if he likes it.)

Phichit shows up at five sporting a cheese hat and carrying a bunch of miniature cheese wheels. “Hey, Seunggil, do you have any crackers? I just went to the cheese festival-”

“You went to a cheese festival,” Seunggil says slowly, because _why_ …

“Emil’s in the cheese club, and I have to support him. Anyway, I’ve got uh… camembert, bellavitano, and swiss. You up for any?”  

And Seunggil sighs and goes to get the Ritz out of the pantry, deciding not to further question why Phichit’s got an entire cheese family in his arms.

They hadn’t really talked in the afternoon. Seunggil had a project, and Phichit was good at telling when not to bother him, so he spent the afternoon doing his homework and texting people on that omnipresent phone. More the second than the first.

Ten twenty-five had come and gone, and Phichit had stayed.

Seunggil hadn’t told him no.

Phichit’s sprawled out on Leo’s mattress right now, eyes buttoned shut and his mouth in a soft smile. (It would make sense that Phichit would smile even in his sleep.) And it shouldn’t make Seunggil feel on edge.

He’d came in that first night, and Seunggil had slept fine.

But now Seunggil’s got the inexplicable urge to crawl into the bed with him and fall asleep there. But that’s- an anomaly. A _glitch_. An unfortunate message sent courtesy of his hormones. (But he doesn’t want to have _sex_ with Phichit or anything. Just to lie there with him and sleep.)

Seunggil sleepily rubs his eyes and cracks open the computer screen, blue light hitting him full in the face. He’s got the basics of the website down- he’ll work on some of the logistics of it tonight.

Anything, really, to stop this train of thought.

\---

**Day 100**

“I’m gonna be staying over at Guang-Hong’s for the night,” Leo says.

“Again?” Seunggil says.

The word is out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he wants to take it back. It makes him sound like he cares. “Why,” he rephrases, in his typical cutting monotone.

(His tongue isn’t as sharp as before, though, like a blade dulled and rusted.)

Leo shrugs, although it’s not a _casual_ shrug. There’s something underneath that makes Seunggil wish he’d taken psychology, because his roommate is the fucking most indirect person he knows, communicating his mood via Spanish delicacies.

“Nothing,” Leo says. Although there’s that something in his voice.

Seunggil turns back to his homework, but before he knows what he’s saying, he’s asking, “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, of course not.” Leo takes a step back. “Oh- about me? Always leaving? Nah… I just figured you would want it…” He trails off with a pleading look in his eye. “Just- don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Yeah, because telling someone not to worry is _always_ reassuring,” Seunggil snaps. “Whatever. Go over to Guang-Hong’s. I hope you get laid this time.”

Leo backs out of the room with a hurt look on his face. Seunggil feels a twinge of guilt because that was mean, even for him. He’s a normally callous person, but those words were engineered to wound.

He knew that Guang-Hong was on crush _n+a_ , _n_ being the number of base crushes he’d accumulated before college and _a_ being the crushes during. It’s like calculus, almost- as _a_ approaches infinity, Leo approaches his limit.

But Seunggil doesn’t know how to apologize.

He turns Leo’s words over in his mind like a heavy stone. Why would Seunggil _want_ Leo to leave? Because for some reason, the words ring true. He thinks of Phichit and his bright smile and the way Seunggil hates receiving only a portion of his attention…

Seunggil leaves the dorm room too, that day, to go run. He lets his muscles burn with exertion and plays trashy pop music until it kills his brain cells.

Until he can’t think of anything else.

\---

**Day 116**

Phichit is passed out on the couch, completely oblivious to the bright afternoon sun beating down on him.

 _Test_ , he’d groaned as soon as he’d walked in. _Just give me… a moment to die…_

Seunggil had thrown a blanket on him after he’d showed no signs of life after about ten minutes, avoiding the _look_ that Leo cast his way. Leo had gone back to being his gentle self, forgiving Seunggil almost a day after he’d messed up, but-

At a price of shoving Seunggil down a path he really didn’t know how to walk. Or want.

“I’m going over to JJ’s,” Leo had announced. “Leftovers in the fridge.” Seunggil hadn’t even bothered acknowledging this statement past a brief head nod. He props his feet up on the desk, knowing that it’s probably going to murder his back, and idly flicks through a review packet.

He makes himself not look over in Phichit’s direction. He shouldn’t be looking at Phichit at all, really. At least not this much. If someone took the number of glances he gave Phichit per day and graphed it, it would look like the world’s most embarrassing exponential curve.

He lets himself after Hoppang climbs on top of him to take a nap herself because Hoppang is his dog, and he’s allowed to look at his dog.

Phichit wakes up at around eight, just as Seunggil’s started heating up the chicken pot pie in the microwave, debating whether or not to just eat the vegetables like Leo had told him or dump them out the window. It’s not a very long debate- he decides the second option in less than a second.

“Oh my god,” Phichit says, “How long did I sleep for?” He reaches for his phone almost immediately, visibly relaxing as soon as it’s safe in his jeans.

“Four hours,” Seunggil says, resisting the urge to tack on a _thirty-five minutes_ because no one ever wants to know the exact time. Plus- it’s a little weird. That he’d be keeping track of something so closely, even at a subconscious level.

“Oh- okay, that’s not that bad, then,” Phichit says hesitantly. “I was planning to stay over at your dorm-”

(Another dangerous clue, that Phichit _staying over_ isn’t even worth questioning, that Leo doesn’t even bother making his bed in the mornings anymore.)

“-But I might end up keeping you awake,” Phichit finishes. His voice gets smaller at the end, as if he’s weighing the chances of walking in on his roommate and his boyfriend fucking on the mattress.

Seunggil shrugs. “My sleep schedule’s already wack. You’re not going to mess it up even further.” (That’s not true. A sleeping Phichit is a menace, but awake? That’s like trying to go to sleep next to a thousand-watt light bulb.)

Phichit shrugs, saying, “Who am I to question your poor life decisions,” and laughs when Seunggil glares at him. Phichit pulls out his phone, and Seunggil his laptop, and he’s just opening the website when-

“Wait, you’ve actually been working on that?” Phichit exclaims, crawling over. The mattress squeaks under their combined weight, the laptop tipping dangerously. Seunggil shuffles over to make room.

Their shoulders and thighs are touching, and their torsos are neatly aligned. Phichit sits in his bed all the time, shoulders curved around the headboard in a way that would make a physiologist cry, but this is the first time they’ve sat at the same end.

Seunggil doesn’t think he’s been this close to someone else for the past decade. Even though he’s trained his mind to remain calm for any situation, he can’t help the physical reaction. His nerves catch on _fire_. Like he’s exceeded the maximum percentage of contact and is now in danger of overheating.

“Yeah, I have,” Seunggil says, after a pause that he’s certain is way too long. The website is about three-quarters finished, clean and minimalistic and modern. He’ll let Phichit take over the color palette when he’s got the layout done.

“Holy crap,” Phichit breathes. “You talented _bastard_.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Seunggil mumbles. “And it’s not done yet…”   

“No- you can shut up. It’s gorgeous.” And Seunggil kind of wants to chide him for gushing over what is, in the most generally accepted sense, _subpar programming_ , but Phichit looks delighted enough that Seunggil wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“Okay wait- just gimme a second, I’m just gonna show you what I’m going for here.” Phichit rummages around his backpack for a moment before pulling out a USB and sticking it into the computer. (Seunggil wants to make a quip about flash drives not being the _latest technology_ , but doesn’t know if he’ll be able to pull it off in a less-than-mean way.)

“There we go,” Phichit says cheerily. His drive is messy, the documents and folders arranged in a fashion that is distinctly unorganized but- as much as a flash drive can be- _fashionable_. He clicks on a folder, and Seunggil blinks. Something about Phichit he always forgets: he might be wild in his day to day activity, but when he’s trying…

It’s _amazing_.   

Row after row of neat folders flash across the screen, all titled with a single word or phrase. Seunggil catches glimpses of names as Phichit scrolls through- _Abstract. Childhood. Culture._ He stops in the D-section and clicks.

 _Dreams_.

Phichit is an amateur photographer. Seunggil knows that, knows that the pictures here aren’t professional. And the topic is decidedly easy to expound upon, but the collection is gorgeous nonetheless.

At the top are black and white pictures of cities and concert halls and wide open night skies, hazy and surreal around the edges, like a memory that would fade away the next morning. And after that, there’s a sharp burst of color.

They’re vivid photographs focusing on a single subject, and Seunggil takes a breath when he realizes he _knows_ some of these people. Guang-Hong, smock splattered with paint as a half-finished painting takes form on his easel. Leo, bow flying across the strings of a violin. Yuuri, frozen forever in a spin above the ice-

“That one’s my favorite,” Phichit whispers, pointing at the picture of Yuuri.

Seunggil nods, still staring. And then he jars himself out because he’s not going to let Phichit know that he’s _actually fucking impressed_ (although, he’s certain that Phichit’s already figured it out) and curtly nods. “You’ll have to tell me what you want from now on. I have no sense of aesthetic.”

Phichit’s face spasms, and he stays quiet for precisely one second before exploding into peals of laughter. “I’m sorry,” Phichit gasps, after Seunggil shoots his best _what the fuck is wrong with you_ face at him. “I just- you actually used the word aesthetic-”

“It’s a _word_ ,” Seunggil protests.

“I know,” Phichit says, calming down. “I don’t know. I’ve just kind of… learned to associate that with Instagram. And Tumblr. That sort of stuff.”

“I have an Instagram.”

“You do?” Phichit asks, eyes wide. Seunggil’s mouth curves into a harsh frown at that, and Phichit says, “I don’t know why I wouldn’t think you did. I guess I just thought you were-”

“What.”

“I don’t know,” Phichit says. “You always look really annoyed whenever I bring up social media… You know, this one.” He pulls a face.

“That’s my indifferent face.”

“No, your indifferent face is like this.” Seunggil raises an eyebrow- Phichit should _never_ play poker. “Sorry for assuming, though. You always just seem like you’re too cool for that kind of stuff.”

“I just don’t see the point of it,” Seunggil says, tamping down the desire to argue with Phichit on the use of ‘cool’ because he’s like, the _least_ cool person on the planet.

Phichit hums. “Can I follow you?” It takes a minute for Seunggil to realize he’s referring to Instagram.

“I never post anything,” Seunggil says. “Except Hoppang. Once every month.” Phichit’s face lights up, and he taps on Instagram and pulls up the search bar.

Seunggil sighs but types in _lee-seunggil_ and hits _follow_. His profile is conspicuously bare, not even a profile picture present.

“Thank you,” Phichit beams.

“Can I see your photos?” Seunggil asks, and Phichit nods and passes over the laptop. He idly flicks through the folders- some are better than others, _dream_ was definitely the best out of all of them- and something catches his attention.

 _Unspoken_. He clicks.

It’s pictures of- is that _his_ dorm? He frowns, about to take a closer look, but Phichit startles next to him and pulls the computer back, yanking the flash drive out.

“I just remembered. I had an assignment I needed to do,” Phichit says, his voice maybe a shade or two higher than normal. “Sorry, I’ll go work now.”

“Okay?” Seunggil says. “But you never work?”

“I’m offended,” Phichit says half-heartedly, taking out his own laptop. He doesn’t plug in the flash drive. Instead, he buries it deep inside his backpack, like he doesn’t want anyone to find it.  

\---

**Day 130**

Seunggil is- in the bluntest way- _dense_.

He knows this. Academic competence doesn’t exempt a person from being completely, utterly dense. And it’s not really dense as it is more- _socially,_ or _romantically_ oblivious, and Seunggil, when his head is finally wrenched out of his ass, feels like he got hit by the world’s worst metaphorical brick.

Point being, he finally figures out that he’s in over his head.

He also now has a deep-seated vendetta against Yuuri Katsuki, although they’ve spoken all but two words to each other, and poor Yuuri has absolutely no idea that he’s even done something wrong.

But anyway.

Seunggil and Phichit have settled into a routine where Seunggil will lazily touch up on the coding while Phichit goes through the files in his collection and chatter, sometimes about relevant things and sometimes not. It’s a good system because Seunggil can stay quiet and just listen, even though Phichit is under the impression that he’s not paying attention to half the things he’s saying.

But he is. Phichit has a good voice. The kind that makes you want to hear what he has to say.

“We should run a blog together when we’re older,” Phichit says, and Seunggil hums noncommittally in response. “As a side thing. It’d be a mess, since we’re like, polar opposites, but it’d be a good mess.”

Seunggil mulls this idea over. Phichit has suggested plenty outrageous things for the future ( _you should be my plus one at the thing on Friday!_ ), but this was- actually pretty reasonable. And it wouldn’t have to be a mess; Phichit’s photography was definitely at the better end of things, and Seunggil could write witty, cutting-edge captions-

Seunggil shakes his head. Neither of them would have time for anything like that. They might not even stay in touch after college… Seunggil hadn’t come to university planning on meeting anyone he might actually _want_ to talk to.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Phichit says, and Seunggil whips around because the timbre of his voice is so- unnatural. Forced. Like he’s a bad actor auditioning for a crappy film- it was apparent, at least, that there wasn’t anything he’d been forgetting. “About this folder.”

“Which one?” Seunggil says, craning his head to look at Phichit’s computer screen.

Phichit shrugs in that same stilted, heavy way his voice had been, sliding the computer over. “It was one of my recent projects… I didn’t have the best time with it…”

Seunggil clicks on the folder, titled simply, _heartbreak_. The photos are innocuous but distinctly sad, images of broken, incomplete things. It makes Seunggil’s chest hurt to look at it, although that’s more out of the urge to fix it than anything: to slide the final jigsaw piece into the puzzle, to straighten the crooked picture on the wall.

And then, at the very end, something decidedly not broken. It’s a candid picture of two boys holding hands: Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov, both with stupid smiles on their faces. Blurry and shaky and grayscale.   

“Oh,” Seunggil says numbly.

“Yeah,” Phichit whispers. And Seunggil knows there’s something wrong with him because he shouldn’t _feel like this_. He knows, from secondhand sources, that falling for someone feels like this- like, butterflies in the stomach. (Or the smaller intestines; the stomach was actually higher anatomically.) Like wanting.

But of course, Seunggil’s first romantic thought is that he wants to shove someone off of the Empire State Building. His mind lashes out with a thousand different thoughts: to yell at Phichit for not telling him before, to throw a brick at Victor Nikiforov’s face, to fucking _knee Yuuri Katsuki in the solar plexus-_

“I think I’m over it now, though,” Phichit says carefully.

“Really?” Seunggil mumbles, unconsciously scooting away from Phichit. They’re too close, and now that Seunggil has this new information, it might be a while before he’s comfortable with their current personal boundaries.

“Yeah,” Phichit says. “I think I am now.”

Seunggil stays silent, doing quick calculations in his head. If Phichit had felt like this since Yuuri and Victor first got together, then- “You were never really sexiled, were you.”

“Not that first night. Not… for a lot of nights,” Phichit admits, twining his fingers together. “I don’t know.”

“So you came here to escape,” Seunggil reasons. There’s no judgement behind it, just his analytical side taking over to piece together the story of Phichit’s broken heart, but Phichit’s head whips up.

“What? No, of course not!” Phichit says, and Seunggil gives him a look. “Well- at first, yeah. Leo found out after the first night, but… I eventually started coming here because I legitimately liked hanging out with you. I didn’t feel sad when I was with you guys.”

“Oh,” Seunggil says evenly. “Okay.”

“Just, okay?” Phichit says. He sounds sad, almost.

But Seunggil’s social reserves have been taken up for the day, and he’s not really interested in learning more about _Phichit’s_ feelings when his own are in such disarray, so he pulls out an assignment and pretends to look it over.

Phichit takes the hint and falls silent.

\---

**Day 170**

It’s a week after the birthday party incident, and to the outsider eye, Seunggil is fine; he wears his usual black outfit and a poker face fit for Las Vegas. He avoids Phichit’s haunts and is successful at not running into him (they manage to stay on separate paths for two years, after all.)

He just feels numb, the bruised parts of his chest swathed in cloth and his emotions packed away into the back attic of his mind.

He is even more reserved than before, the words exchanged with his roommate down to the bare minimum. Leo is back to treating Seunggil like he’s made of glass, but he’s a scientifically-sound piece of glass, plowing through his homework until he’s a whole month ahead of schedule.

A knock sounds on the door. An unfamiliar voice, and Seunggil is hit with a violent sense of deja vu. He compares past data of new people and doors and decides that he’s not going to open it. Stupid, of course. One trial is not enough to determine anything, and he could have met Phichit a million other ways.

(Maybe this thing with Phichit broke him a little more than he’d liked to admit.)

The knocking stops, and Seunggil returns back to coding. He’s cleared his computer history, so there’s only boring academic websites now. No cute thirty-second videos of dogs sliding down stairs, no Buzzfeed quizzes on _what type of pizza are you_?

At seven o’clock, he goes out to get a sandwich from the nearby shop and nearly steps on someone who is sitting right outside his doorway.

 _What the fuck_ , Seunggil nearly yells, because what the hell is this person doing sitting against their door, just as they squeak out, “Sorry!”

There’s a long, painful second as Seunggil blanks out- who exactly _is_ this person? They look familiar. Glasses, cute face, dark hair- _nope_.

He sidesteps him and continues to walk down the hallway, but Yuuri Katsuki grabs onto his arm with surprising agility and saying, “Please, just hear me out for a few minutes.”

Seunggil tries to twist out of Yuuri’s grasp, his eyes boring into Yuuri’s with the most intimidating glare he has possible. What’s so special about Yuuri, anyway? What about this _boy_ made Phichit want to capture him eternally in technicolor- what about him made Phichit want to hold him in his arms- what about him made him someone Phichit _liked_ -

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Seunggil says, his voice breaking. He’s not strong. If he were strong, he’d let Yuuri talk, and he’d half-listen with an indifferent glance. But he can’t breathe, not when Yuuri’s fingers are wrapped around his wrist, not when-

Yuuri stands up, steel-strong when he looks at Seunggil. “You need to talk to him. He’s my best friend.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Seunggil grits out- at least, a statement that partially rings out.

“He showed me the pictures,” Yuuri says softly. “In the heartbreak folder.”

“Good for you.”

“And- he said he was _over it_ ,” Yuuri says, fiercely. “He’s been really upset for the past few days since you haven’t been talking to him- you made him cry-”

“Saltwater and hormones,” Seunggil snaps, although the thought of Phichit crying makes his heart spasm in a way that might be- _guilty_ \- “And-”

“All he ever did was talk about you for the past month,” Yuuri snaps, eyes lighting aflame. His spine straightens; his grip around Seunggil’s wrist hurts enough to bruise.

“Phichit is really stupid. I admit that. Both of you are. But as his best friend, I can tell you that he _cares_ about you. He’s been coming over to your dorm almost every day for the past few months, and he doesn’t just do that with anyone. I don’t know what happened at the party since it’s not really my business, but you guys need to talk.”

“What do you know,” Seunggil says, intending his words to be cutting. “You don’t know anything about heartbreak with your perfect celebrity romance.”

But Yuuri just smiles serenely, letting go of his wrist. “Maybe, but I’m an expert on passing things up because I wasn’t brave enough to just take a chance.”

Seunggil looks down.

“Talk to him,” Yuuri says finally, knowing he’s got the last word. He turns and walks down the hall, hands in pockets. Seunggil watches him go before turning around and heading back to his dorm, head down.

\---

**Day 143**

The discovery that he likes Phichit isn’t as mind-blowing as he first thought. It’s kind of like discovering North America. It was already there in the first place; it’s just being acknowledged now.

It makes sense. His nerves flaring up in contact; the way his eyes refuse to budge from Phichit’s form; how every sentence Phichit says is fed through the machinery of his mind, churned and dissected into something that might be comprehendible. He’s just aware of it now.

(The last part, the overanalyzing part, is the worst. Because- is that Phichit flirting, or is that just him being nice? Phichit’s words blur the line between nicely; even a professional social scientist would have a hard time with _this_ case.)

“Do you want to come to my birthday party?” Phichit hedges out, this afternoon. “Oh fuck, that came out like I was in preschool or something.”

Seunggil shrugs. “There’s not really any other way to phrase it.”

“Eh…” Phichit says, halfheartedly waving a hand in the air.

“And it’s not like I know anything about the college vernacular,” Seunggil says, keeping his voice indifferent. “The point of words is to get the message across.”

Phichit laughs lightly. “I was raised in a cesspool of internet slang, where you say everything _except_ for what you mean.”

“Ugh,” Seunggil grunts noncommittally. “When’s this party, anyway?”

“Wait, you’re actually going?” Phichit says, bolting upright. “You’re- not high, are you?”

Seunggil halfheartedly shrugs. Because Phichit’s right- the way he’d phrased his request had brought to Seunggil’s mind balloons and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. (He’d stopped going to birthday parties after second grade.) “What’s it going to be like.”

“Um, my friend Chris booked a nearby club. Knowing him, the punch is going to be spiked, and there are definitely going to be enough people to kill your introverted soul.”

“Have you ever considered going into marketing?”

“Hey, listen, I always sold the most candy bars during elementary school fundraisers,” Phichit says teasingly, but Seunggil wholeheartedly believes that. (He’d definitely buy a candy bar from Phichit if he asked, even if it was overpriced.) “But I just wanted to let you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Seunggil’s chest feels warm at the words. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “When’s your birthday?”

“You don’t know?” Phichit says, fake-offended.

“When’s _my_ birthday?”

“... You have a point there,” Phichit admits. “But I’m notoriously bad with remembering. Now _you_ , with your _memory_ -”

“I only use it for formulas and blackmail material,” Seunggil says dismissively. “Nothing much else up there.”

“April 30th, you _heathen_ ,” Phichit groans, and Seunggil forces his mouth to stay down.

\---

**Day 144**

What kind of phone does Phichit even _have_ , anyway?

Seunggil bites down on his lip, staring at the options.

 _This is insane_.

\---

**Day 163**

“You’re coming with?” Leo says, mouth in a round O shape. Seunggil allows himself a smile at this; at least, with this decision, he can surprise a couple of people.

He’s not dressed for occasion, wearing his usual black t-shirt and jeans. This entire idea makes him uncomfortable enough as is, the foil-wrapped rectangle burning a hole in his pocket. “Yeah,” Seunggil says.

Leo’s got a slight smile. “Do you need a ride?”

Phichit had told him the address; about ten minutes away from the dorm rooms by car.  Seunggil had already forgotten it, and besides, it’s not like he’s familiar with this area of town...

Leo reads his mind. “Otabek’s taking a couple of us over, including Guang-Hong. I’m pretty sure we can fit you.”

Seunggil nods, already regretting his decision. Leo grins, and he and Seunggil make their way over to the front of the dorm. They only have to wait three minutes or so before a beat-up, secondhand Nissan comes squealing down the road.

The voices reach him before the car does.

“I still don’t see why we’re not taking your motorcycle,” someone says, irritated.

“A couple others needed rides. It was practical.”

“Why the fuck are you so nice, Beka,” the first voice says, angry and fond. The car slows to a stop, and the door opens. At the driver’s seat is Otabek, presumably, wearing shades and a neutral frown. Next to him is someone clad in four different tiger prints, hair so blonde it practically flashes in the moonlight.

“Leo!” Guang-Hong calls, hopping out. His voice is relieved, until he catches sight of Seunggil and visibly shrinks. Seunggil snorts.

“Hey, my friend needs a ride,” Leo says, jerking a thumb at Seunggil. “Can we take him?”

“He’s going in the trunk,” blonde-haired tiger guy grumbles.

“Yuri…” Otabek says, rubbing his eyes. “We can squeeze him in.” He turns to Leo. “Do you mind if Guang-Hong sits on your lap?”

Leo splutters. Guang-Hong’s face turns a brilliant shade of red. Seunggil sighs, pressing his palm to his forehead. “I don’t mind either way.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t want my roommate to have to sit in the trunk,” Leo says, sounding strangled, and Guang-Hong awkwardly nods in agreement. Seunggil shrugs and climbs into the car, hearing a whispered _Jesus Christ_ from Yuri as he gets in. In the backseat is another guy that Seunggil hadn’t seen before, eyes ringed with shadow and arms crossed firmly over his chest.

“Otabek’s DJing tonight,” Leo tells him, and Seunggil double-takes. _Him_?

Leo doesn’t say anything beyond that for the rest of the ride, looking like it’s taking all of his concentration not to combust from the fact Guang-Hong is sitting on him, who is equally silent and tomato-red. Yuri and Otabek are wrapped up in their own world in the front, and it’s almost a relief when they finally pull up to the club.

“Are you fine on your own?” Leo asks worriedly. “I can stay with you, if you want.”

Seunggil turns away. _God_ , that would be nice, not to be alone in this sea of people. But he’s sick of people taking pity on him, and anyway, everything about Leo screams that he wants to be left alone with Guang-Hong. Seunggil says, “I’m fine.”

The party is about halfway to full swing when Seunggil comes in. There are a few beers open, but the food table still looks intact. A couple of people drunkenly cheer when Otabek walks in, clearly recognizing from some other unofficial gigs.

Seunggil is- uncomfortable, to say the least. He feels like he can’t breathe.

No one is looking at him, so he finds a bathroom and locks himself in it. This is okay. This is perfectly fine. He just- he sighs, putting his head in his hands. _Deep breaths. Construct a goal for the night_ …

He just needs to see Phichit once, to give him the present. And even if he doesn’t, he’s okay; he can just pretend he never came and give it to him tomorrow. (Leo would back him up.) In the meantime, he could just… walk in there, hold a beer, and try and act natural.

 _God_ , what did people even do at these things?

Besides, it’s dark; he won’t look too conspicuous if he’s hidden in a corner. He steels his resolve and walks out. He must have spent longer in there than he’d thought, because Otabek’s got his equipment set up, and he’s blasting this remix of _Still Alive_ that actually sounds fucking amazing.

Seunggil plants himself in the corner and hopes no one realizes that a) he’s here and b) this is desperately not his turf. There are other people huddled along the walls, too, and Seunggil feels a reluctant kinship to them. They look as miserable as he feels.

He pulls his phone out to check the time: 9:30. He’ll give up at around one. He sighs, checking the battery and hoping it’s enough to last him three and a half hours. He takes a sip of the beer and winces. _Jesus_ , why do people drink this stuff?

Eh… if it’ll make him feel less awkward, then why not. He downs the thing, crossing his fingers that all feelings of not belonging will disappear. It doesn’t- the world spins a little bit, and his insides feel warm. His mind feels foggy.

His mind is literally the only thing that is mildly acceptable about him, so he decides he won’t drink any more.

By eleven, his phone is down to five percent, and he’s got a headache from the pounding music and the neon lights. Shadows grind in the dark, and Seunggil presses himself a little closer to the wall. He’s probably not going to see Phichit tonight, even.

“Hi!” someone says, shoving themselves next to Seunggil. An unfamiliar voice- Seunggil looks. It’s a girl, with dark hair and… _violet_ eyes? “I’m Sara.”

Seunggil ducks his head back down to his phone.

“It’s not polite to not respond!” the girl shouts, and Seunggil snorts.

“I’m not exactly the pinnacle of social contact, as you can see,” he says, and she sticks up her nose and turns away. He rubs his temples; even he’s not normally this rude, but _god_ , this entire operation had been grating at him for the past few hours.

A guy walks up to him and tries to start a fight, something about hitting on his sister. Seunggil laughs meanly and says, “Sounds like you need to keep a closer eye on her.”

The guy glares at him and also dashes off into the crowd, and Seunggil feels sick. _This_ is why he doesn’t usually talk to people, sans Leo and Phichit.

This is what usually happens.

Thirty more minutes. Thirty more minutes and then he’ll leave…

It’s almost unwelcome when Seunggil spots Phichit, stumbling off of the dance floor; he’d been so resigned to it not happening. Phichit sees him and staggers closer. At this distance, Seunggil can see that his hair is sweaty and plastered to his forehead, a high flush on his cheeks.

“You came!” he slurs, pressing himself next to Seunggil. Seunggil smiles at him in spite of himself.

“Hi,” he says, and then, because it’s courtesy, “Happy birthday.”

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Phichit says, giggling, and Seunggil rolls his eyes.

“Trust me, I didn’t either,” Seunggil says, pressing the present into Phichit’s hands. “You’re really drunk.”

Phichit doesn’t even register the gift, and Seunggil’s forced to shove it back into his own pockets before it gets crushed by the swell of people. Phichit says, “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” Seunggil asks, blushing for maybe the first time in a decade.

Phichit doesn’t respond. Not in words, at least; he tangles his hands in Seunggil’s hair and kisses him. His mouth is warm and tastes like shitty beer, and Seunggil doesn’t even think before he’s kissing him back. It’s sloppy and dirty and open-mouthed, and Seunggil feels like he’s high until-

“ _Yuuri_.”

It’s a whisper against his lips, the shape and sound all wrong. He pushes Phichit back and doesn’t even look to see his reaction- he just _runs_.

_Fuck._

\---

**Day 164**

**Phichit:** Hey

[message not sent]

 **Phichit:** Huh weird it’s not going through… let me try again somewhere else?

[message not sent]

 **Phichit:** did you block me?

[message not sent]

\---

**Day 171**

Seunggil has never felt this uncomfortable in his entire life.

He unblocked Phichit ten minutes ago, and now he’s turning the phone over in his hands, debating what to send him. He’s never the one to text first. It’s always Phichit, spamming his inbox with some meme or another.

 **Seunggil:** Hi.

Three dots. They go on for a solid minute until-

 **Phichit:** hey

Seunggil bites his mouth, taking a deep breath.

 **Seunggil:** Do you want to talk?

 **Phichit:** yeah

 **Seunggil:** Leo’s at Guang-Hong’s.

(Probably getting laid.) Seunggil turns his phone off and puts it in his pocket. He takes out his computer and pretends to work on a chunk of code, even though his focus is anywhere but right now.

A knock sounds on the door, soft and hesitant. Seunggil slowly gets up and heads over, turning the doorknob. It’s Phichit, head down, his usual glow gone.

 _I did that_ , Seunggil thinks, but he’s not in the mood to feel guilty.

“Hi,” he starts, but Phichit takes a sharp breath and cuts him off.

“Can you just- tell me what I did wrong?” he pleads. “I’m so sorry if I screwed up, Seunggil. I was really drunk that night and I have _no_ idea of what I did except that it hurt you. Unless I’m wrong and it wasn’t the party, and-”

“You kissed me,” Seunggil spits out. The words feel like acid coming out of his mouth, and Phichit’s eyes widen. There’s the next part too- _and then you called me Yuuri_ \- but he can’t bring himself to say it. He already feels like bile is forcing its way out of his throat.

“Oh,” Phichit whispers. “I’m… sorry. If it made you uncomfortable.”

Seunggil stares down at the ground. “It’s okay,” he says. Yuuri is wrong- talking isn’t helping. If anything, his stomach feels like it’s being wrenched out of its socket even further. Because Seunggil has never kissed anyone in his life, and it probably means _nothing_ , and-

“I might as well clear this up now,” Phichit says, looking just as terrified, “and it’s okay if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore because I have nothing to lose at this point- except, well, maybe the last few shreds of my dignity- but I _like you_. I have for a long time.”

The words fall between them, weighing heavy as a brick. Seunggil feels like unstirred cake batter, or something, all different colors swirling in him in their own respective emotional pools. “Then why did you call me Yuuri?” he says, his voice shaking.

“Fuck,” Phichit says, eyes widening. “I called you _Yuuri_?”

“I kissed you back,” Seunggil says, each word being wrenched out of his mouth by some unrelenting force, “And then you called me Yuuri.”

“Shit, Seunggil, I- I’m really sorry,” Phichit says. He opens his mouth a couple of times- Seunggil can see the excuses tumbling around his mouth: _I was drunk, and you guys kind of look alike, maybe we should forget this_.

“It’s okay,” Seunggil whispers. His physical form is crumbling, and his mind is about to follow suit. “I get it.”

“No, it’s _not_ okay,” Phichit argues right back, and Seunggil chokes out a laugh.

“So what are you going to do about it?” he asks.

Phichit pulls his knees up to his chest. “This isn’t really anything I can fix in a few minutes,” he says. “But I’m- gonna try and be honest.”

“I’ve liked Yuuri for the past two years. Maybe more,” Phichit says, helplessly, and Seunggil puts on his best poker face, like his insides aren’t shriveling. “When he and Victor got together, it- killed me. It really did. They’re happy together… who was I to interrupt that?”

Seunggil shrugs. He’ll let Phichit flail around in his own words for a bit; he doesn’t feel too inclined to toss him a lifesaver. Mostly because it sounds like this is something Phichit needs to say.

“And I’ve been trying to get over him,” Phichit says. “I made the heartbreak folder for that, too, and I’ve been hanging out at Leo’s trying to distance myself. And maybe at first I kept on coming over to use you guys as a distraction…”   

 _You called me interesting,_ Seunggil thinks.

“I kept on flirting with you because it took my mind off things. I’m pretty sure you didn’t realize it was flirting, though. But I don’t know. After a while, I started legitimately- _falling_ -” he chokes, and Seunggil can see why “- for you, and just.”

“I’m not going to pretend that I don’t still have emotional residue left over from the whole Yuuri thing. But I like you a lot. I want to hold your hand and stuff. And take you out on dates. And kiss you, preferably when I’m not under the influence.”

“Okay,” Seunggil says, and a small smile creeps up on Phichit’s face.

“Really?”

“I- don’t know,” Seunggil says, fumbling for words. “I- _like_ you too.” (Jesus Christ.) “But I don’t know… give me some time to think it over?”

“Sure,” Phichit says, although he’s pretty much full-out grinning at this point. “Take your time.”

\---

**Day 180**

“I’m pretty sure Leo thinks he’s getting sexiled,” Phichit comments idly.

It’s rounding eleven PM, and both of them are in Seunggil’s bed. They’re sitting the way they always do, when there’s nothing either of them have to show: Phichit leaning against one end of the bed, and Seunggil leaning on the other.

Seunggil opens his mouth, the debate at the tip of his tongue. “It’s not sexile because _one_ , we’re not having sex-”

“I’d be chill if we were, though-”

Seunggil chokes. “What?”

“Nothing. Go on.” Phichit’s face is dusted red, although he looks faintly pleased with himself. Seunggil is pretty sure he’s blushing, too- he’s pretty sure that he’s blushed more in the last week with Phichit’s not-so-subtle lines than he has in his entire lifetime.

“And _two_ , it’s voluntary. It’s not like- we asked him to, or anything,” Seunggil mumbles.

Phichit shrugs. “He probably figured it out a lot faster than either of us did.” Seunggil wants to ask what _it_ is, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle Phichit’s answer. “He kept on leaving the dorm and _winking_ …”

“We’re not doing anything in here, though,” Seunggil says, with a pale imitation of his usual composure. Phichit grins at him, and- oh, this is what they mean by _sexy_ , and Seunggil pulls his legs up against his chest and gets out his computer.

It’s finals soon, cram weeks officially starting right about now. They’ve been slaving over their respective textbooks for several hours straight, Phichit sporadically complaining that his veterinary studies class is going to make him hate animals forever. Seunggil just shrugs, copying down formulas and examples until his wrists ache.

Now, he pulls up Phichit’s website on the screen and scrutinizes the lines of code. “I think we’re good here,” he says finally. “It doesn’t look like it needs anything more.”

Phichit pulls a face. “Damn.” At Seunggil’s quizzical look, he says, “You looked really cute whenever you’re frustrated with a line of code…”

“I’m glad you derive enjoyment from my pain,” Seunggil says dryly, trying to pretend the comment doesn’t have his chest pulling itself inside out.

The thing is, even though Phichit’s been dropping all of those verbal lines on him, he hasn’t actually done anything- always staying a respectful space away, never asking for anything back. Like he’s trying to prove to Seunggil that he’s serious, or something.

(Maybe. It’s not like Seunggil’s good at figuring this stuff out.)

Phichit swings his legs over the bed and onto the floor with a thump. “Shit, I forgot my charger, can I borrow yours?” He’s already rummaging through the cabinet where-

Where-

“Hey, if it’s not my business, what’s this?” Phichit asks, holding a rectangle up, wrapped in foil. “Is this Leo’s?”

Seunggil shakes his head. “No. It’s mine.”

“Oh,” Phichit says, nervously. “So. Um. Who’s it for? Unless it just came like this.” He shifts side to side, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be asking these questions.

“Technically it’s yours. I guess. It was your birthday present.”

“You got me a _birthday present_?” Phichit says, eyes round.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Seunggil grumbles. “I’m not _that_ socially inept. Anyway. I came to your party so I could give it to you… although, you ended up being too drunk to take it and kissed me instead.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I,” Phichit says. “I’m never gonna drink again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Are you going to fucking open it or not?”

Phichit takes his time pulling the wrapping off, carefully picking at the pieces of tape with his fingernails and unfolding the pieces of paper one by one. Seunggil wants to yell at him to _just_ hurry up-

\---

**Day 1**

“Holy _shit_ ,” Phichit breathes, and Seunggil ducks his head. It’s just a phone case. (He may have spent the entirety of his broke college student savings on it, but that couldn’t be helped.)

It’s light blue and gray and white, the colors that Phichit chose for his portfolio theme, and written on it in curly black script are the words “Terra Incognita.” _Uncharted land_ , and Phichit’s favorite song from _The King and the Skater 2_.

“Um,” Phichit says, quietly, after a moment. “I think you got it in the wrong size.”

“Shit,” Seunggil says, because now that he’s looking at the two things side by side, he can see that Phichit’s phone is maybe a centimeter or so smaller than the case.

“I- legitimately really like it, though,” Phichit says weakly, and Seunggil shoves his face into the pillow. “It’s… really cute. I’ll buy a phone in this size so I can use it sometime-”

Seunggil quietly wails, and Phichit explodes into laughter. Maybe because it’s past midnight and none of them are functioning under normal rationale, but-

“Hey, Seunggil, look at me,” Phichit says, poking him. “I really like it.”

“It was the wrong size,” Seunggil mumbles, “And I had to subsist for a week on straight ramen because of it-”

“You always talk about how socially crappy you are, but like, this is probably the coolest gift I’ve ever got, even if it is- marginally useless-” Seunggil moans again, and Phichit’s laughter abruptly dries up. “I really like it.”

“You said that already.”

“How about this, then- I really like _you_.”

“That’s really embarrassing,” Seunggil mumbles, lifting his face up from the pillow. His hair is a mess, and his face is probably aflame.

Phichit smiles, different from his usual sunny grin- this one is distinctly _hot_ , and says, “You wanna find out just how embarrassing I can be?”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late,” he says, and pretends to count off his fingers. “I like the way you can wear anything and not give a damn, and I like the way you call me out on all my bullshit- and, _and_ , I like that you can say the word _salacious_ with a completely straight face, and I like the way you look when I compliment you- like, that face, and-”

“Shut _up_ ,” Seunggil mumbles, and, with the sole intent of wiping the cocky grin off of Phichit’s face, leans over and kisses him. He hasn’t really planned the logistics of it out when he does it, and they both overbalance and end up half sprawled on top of each other on the mattress, smashed into the headboard.

It’s not a comfortable position. Seunggil pulls away, face heated.

“Bad start,” Phichit comments, then repositions them so that they’re lying down and then properly kisses him. Phichit is as warm when he kisses as he is all the time (sans when he’s drunk).

Seunggil has no idea what he’s doing, but fortunately, Phichit doesn’t seem to care about doing it right. So Seunggil experiments, touches the curves of Phichit’s face, the warm skin at his waist, presses his hands to the smooth black of his hair.

Phichit’s mouth is kind of like a fractal, a finite area with an infinite perimeter. Really soft, half-open against Seunggil’s and still curved in the ghost of a smile.

Seunggil is the first to pull away. Things that feel that good are dangerous. (Drugs. Alcohol. Cigarettes.) His mind is clouding over in a haze of dopamine, and he forces his mouth into a neutral line.

It’s not like Phichit would believe that neutral line, anyway, not when his mouth had just been acquainted with an arc a few seconds ago. But he tries. One-eighty degrees.   

Phichit smiles, shy. Nothing resembling arrogance, and a rare sort of speechlessness. Seunggil can’t even look at him; he’s _that_ bright, and even when Phichit cups his chin with his fingers and turns his head, Seunggil keeps his eyes averted.

It might save him from some embarrassment for what he’s going to say next.

“We can go out…” Seunggil says, quietly. “I mean. If you want.”

“Yeah,” Phichit says. “Yeah, I do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> ^stares at fic and winces. Um, thank you for making it to the end. Will be writing a leoji counterpart soon, hope you enjoy(ed)!


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